


he crawls outside himself to sing

by destruction_of_the_galaxy



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Reflection, also please do not romanticize southern summers because they're hot and sweaty, it's a warm summer night and trip is feeling things, more like i'm feeling things, they are NOT sexy and sultry, yes i wrote this based on my own experience... what of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25189891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destruction_of_the_galaxy/pseuds/destruction_of_the_galaxy
Summary: He opens his eyes to watch the leaves shake — the cicadas are calling out, looking for love, singing a gentle tune; Trip reckons they’re better musicians than most.Trip sits on his back porch and reminisces about southern summers.Title from Hosho McCreesh's poem "Cicada."
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	he crawls outside himself to sing

**Author's Note:**

> sat outside. felt an emotion. wrote a little unedited drabble based on it for trip in like 10 minutes. that's just how it goes.
> 
> follow me on tumblr and twitter @bitriptucker.
> 
> thanks for reading, love you, drink your water, stay safe.

It’s summertime.

Trip sits out on his back porch steps, watching the setting sun color his surroundings golden. He stretches his legs, leaning back on his arms, moving to smack a mosquito on his knee. He wrinkles his nose and wipes his hand on his shorts before turning his face up to the goldenrod sky.

A gentle breeze blows through the air, caressing his cheeks and ruffling his blond hair. He shuts his eyes, focusing on the wind cooling the sweat on his face. He's grateful that the temperature is dropping tonight — it’s been in the mid-90s all week, and there's only so much heat he can take. He nearly laughs when he hears his daddy in his mind saying, "It’s not the heat that gets you, it's the humidity!" It’s a common phrase from southern dads, and Charlie is no different.

The breeze curls through the trees, dancing to the cicadas’ song. He opens his eyes to watch the leaves shake — the cicadas are calling out, looking for love, singing a gentle tune; Trip reckons they’re better musicians than most. Cicadas crawl outside of themselves, steeling against the elements to tell their little story, and Trip can't name anything braver than showing your face.

The cicadas’ song mingles with the croaking of the tree frogs — a free concert with a sweet choir. He squints his eyes at the trees to see if he can spot any frogs; it’s getting dark now, and they're going to come out soon. He doesn't see any frogs, but he does spot a few little flashes of light. The lightning bugs have arrived to play with each other, flitting and teasing, calling out to the others in a bright Morse code he has yet to decipher.

He shuts his eyes again, listening to the world at its sweetest, at its gentlest, and wonders how many times he’ll experience this. Each moment is different, and he’s found that it's difficult to take snapshots. Maybe it's better that way. Maybe it's better to keep these moments in his heart. After all, isn't that the best way to keep things?

It’s summertime.


End file.
